


Guard Your Faith, Temper Your Speed

by throughtosunrise



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:38:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throughtosunrise/pseuds/throughtosunrise
Summary: This whole relationship thing is very new, and Yasha and Beau have been taking things a little bit slow while they figure it out. Though when Beau comes up with a surprise for Yasha (and maybe enlists some help from the rest of the Mighty Nein to pull it off), that just might change.Which is to say, here be some fluff and some smut, featuring feelings, faith, and friendship dynamics, set at some vague indeterminate future point.





	Guard Your Faith, Temper Your Speed

**Author's Note:**

> This started with me making a joke, after the infamous watch scene in “The Gentleman’s Path,” about how since Yasha was so fond of grass the first time she and Beau had sex it had better be in a grassy field somewhere. When I started writing this, it was just supposed to be a couple of thousand words of self-indulgent, fade-to-black fluff.
> 
> And then smut accidentally happened, and a motif started surfacing, and there were feelings and group dynamics and some kind of emotional arc, and I was not expecting any of that. And what I ended up with was _this_. *waves hands* I don’t know. I don’t typically write smut. I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED.
> 
> Titles are hard, so this one is from “Reunion,” by the Indigo Girls, because I am nothing if not a connoisseur of 90s/00s lesbian folk icons.

“Hey, Yasha!”

 She’s sitting on a fallen tree trunk by the campfire circle, conversing idly with Caleb while Frumpkin curls up on her lap, purring loudly to encourage her to pet him more, but she looks up immediately when she hears her name.

 Beau’s heading toward them, all long leaping strides and barely contained energy, an eager grin on her face that only grows broader when Yasha meets her gaze.

 Caleb chuckles softly and murmurs in Celestial, “ _Never tell her I said this, but happiness is a good look on Beauregard.”_

 _“It is, isn’t it?”_ Yasha replies; she’s not looking in his direction at all any more, but she doesn’t think he minds. Her attention is entirely focused on admiring the way Beau moves, anyway, and when she lets herself remember that the undisguised affection on Beau’s face is all for her, a sudden intense burst of delight uncoils in the pit of her stomach, spreading warmth throughout her body as it races through her veins and making her go a bit light-headed.

  _“It suits you just as well, I think,”_ Caleb says gently, and reaches up to pat her on the shoulder.

 Yasha runs her fingers over the top of Frumpkin’s head, where his fur is especially soft.  _“I would like to think it does.  I’m still getting used to this,”_ she admits.  _“It’s all new, you know?”_

 She spares a glance in his direction now; he’s smiling, and though there’s a hint of sadness bleeding through in his expression it isn’t enough to dampen the sense that he’s pleased on her behalf.

  _“And a little frightening as well, yes?”_ Caleb asks, and she bites her lip but nods.  _“That is all part of the experience, and I think Beauregard feels the same.”_

 _“She’s been so patient with me,”_ Yasha says, and buries her face in Frumpkin’s fur briefly to hide her sheepish smile.  It still amazes her how willing Beau, brash and impulsive as she is, was to wait until Yasha was sure she was ready for a relationship, and she still has a hard time believing she was worth the effort.  She raises her head and laughs a little bit as she adds, _“Molly says he still can’t believe she was capable of that.”_

“Hey, you’re not talking about me, are you?” asks Beau, leaning down to brush a quick kiss against Yasha’s cheek before she drops onto the tree trunk beside her and slides her arms around her waist.

 Frumpkin makes a soft grumbling noise and sniffs at Beau’s arm before hopping down to trot over to Caleb, and Caleb chuckles apologetically at the brief flash of disappointment on Yasha’s face.  “Only a little bit, but nothing bad, I assure you. Yasha here was extolling your many virtues.”

 “Virtues?” Beau snorts, but she’s grinning. “That’s a good one. You’re funny, Caleb.”

 “That is me, the humor of the group,” he says, deadpan, and stands. “I think I had better go check in on Nott and Jester before they come up with another foolproof plan that will end in bail money.”

 Nott is going through her button collection at the moment, and Jester has gone off with Fjord and Molly to see what they can rustle up for breakfast, so neither Yasha nor Beau takes the comment as anything but a transparent excuse to give them some privacy. They’re hardly ungrateful, though.

 Yasha watches Caleb go, Frumpkin trailing at his heels, and leans into Beau’s embrace. “You’re very excited about something this morning.”

 “I found something while I was out doing my exercises,” Beau says, and stretches up to sneak a quick kiss behind Yasha’s ear. “I think you’re going to be totally into it.”

 “‘Something’ is very vague,” Yasha counters, pretending to be concerned when Beau waggles her eyebrows, but she can’t help being a tiny bit disappointed that she missed out on watching Beau’s morning workout routine.

 “Not into surprises?” Beau asks far too innocently.

 “Surprises tend to result in my wings coming out and people running away scared,” Yasha reminds her.

 Of course Beau would laugh, pull her closer, and use the low husky voice that she _knows_ does things to Yasha to murmur, “You already know that's like the hottest fucking thing in the world to me.” She should have expected that answer, really, as well as the new surge of heat that washes over her entire body in response. “But nah. It's not that kind of surprise, I promise.”

 “Okay,” Yasha says, relenting, because now that she's willing to acknowledge how much of a pushover she is where Beau is concerned, she enjoys it. She turns to capture Beau's mouth for a lingering kiss; readily giving in to that impulse, not doubting whether Beau would welcome it, is a new experience too, and she absolutely revels in it. When she pulls back, Beau makes a soft noise of disappointment that — well, Yasha doesn’t like being the cause of it. She leans forward so that their foreheads are resting lightly against each other and lets one hand fall to Beau’s knee while the other curls around the back of her neck to keep her close. “Will you at least give me a hint?”

 Beau makes a sound as if she’s seriously tempted for a moment. “Mmm. Nope, sorry.”

 Yasha feigns a dramatic sigh. “All right, then. You’re not going to make me wait too long, are you?”

 “What, you think _I_ can wait that long?” Beau asks, laughing. “I just have to prep a few things first, but I’m not gonna keep you hanging.”

 “Okay. Good.” Yasha kisses her lightly on the nose and feels an absurd amount of gratification at the way Beau scrunches up her face into a thoroughly undignified expression. It’s nice, being able to just be silly and relaxed around these people she’s come to accept really are her friends, not just Molly’s friends who put up with her, and it’s especially nice to be able to do so with Beau.

 Beau opens her eyes and leans back a bit. “So after breakfast, then? Assuming Jester and the guys make it back soon.” She still looks just as excited as she did when she first showed up this morning, but there’s a promise of _something_ in her eyes that sets all of Yasha’s nerve endings on fire and makes her swallow hard.

 “After breakfast,” she agrees, and if her voice is a little bit shaky when she says it Beau doesn’t seem to mind.

 Beau grins at her, all mischief and fondness. “Can’t wait. It’s gonna be awesome.” She kisses Yasha, quick and hard, then springs to her feet again.

 She darts away and Yasha watches as she goes, admiring her lithe form, her smooth and efficient movements, all of her vibrant energy and intensity. Yasha understands physicality to a much more nuanced degree than she does the vagaries of words most of the time, and she’d be happy to just watch the way Beau moves forever; there’s so much to take in there.

 She’s lucky. She knows that. She doesn’t know if she’s done anything to warrant that kind of good fortune, but as Beau disappears back into the woods, Yasha breathes out a quiet prayer of thanks to the Stormlord anyway.

 

***       *        ***

 

 Breakfast seems to take forever. It’s halfway to noon by the time Fjord, Jester, and Molly return with a couple of game birds and a sack of fresh pastries, because of course Jester managed to find a traveling bakery cart coming along the road. Fjord had talked Yasha into helping him dress and roast the birds, and she readily agreed if for no other reason than to keep herself busy in the meantime, but Beau is nowhere to be found.

 From the other side of the cooking fire, Fjord seems to notice how Yasha’s eyes keep straying to the edges of the camp, and he’s undoubtedly also noticed the absence of the annoying younger sister act Beau’s assumed with him of late. “’S there, erm, somethin’ wrong?” he asks her, lightly.

 “Huh?” Yasha turns back to him and blinks.

 “You keep lookin’ for Beau,” he says, turning the spit. A few droplets of melted fat fall from the cooking birds and land in the fire with a sizzle. “She take off for some reason?”

 “Oh! No, it’s — it isn’t anything bad,” Yasha blurts out. Warmth creeps up into her cheeks and along the back of her neck, and she knows she’s blushing. “She just… she said she had a surprise for me.”

 “Ah, yeah.” Fjord breaks into a grin at that, wide enough that his still-stubby tusks are visible. “That’s real cute. Never thought I’d ever see the sappy side’a Beau. Wasn’t even sure she had one, t’tell ya the truth.”

 Naturally, this is the moment where, as if right on cue, Beau comes darting out of the trees at the southern edge of their campsite and heads right over to catch Jester by the arm and pull her into a quick conversation. The two of them are sketching broad, animated gestures in the air with their hands as they talk; Beau is practically bouncing on her toes with eagerness, and Jester is grinning. Finally, Beau gives Jester a handful of silver coins in exchange for a small paper bag.

 Jester makes a face that Yasha can’t make sense of at this distance, but it makes Beau laugh and slug her playfully in the arm. Jester counters by swinging a roundhouse punch at Beau’s head. It’s broad and far too easy for someone as quick and practiced as Beau to read, but she lets out a yelp that rings across the clearing anyway when she dodges it.

 Fjord chuckles. “They’re somethin’, huh?” The fondness in his voice is so clear that even Yasha can pick up on it easily, and it dawns on her that she must be smiling as she watches Beau and Jester goof off, because Fjord sounds like she feels.

 “They are,” she agrees softly. She suspects it’s impossible to watch Beau and Jester when they’re in this kind of playful mood and not feel at least a little bit better.

 The friendly sparring match is over almost as quickly as it started, though; Jester gets in a good solid punch to Beau’s solar plexus, but Beau counters by dropping to the ground and sweeping Jester’s legs out from under her in a single lightning-fast fluid motion.

 “I’ll get you next time, Beau, just watch!” Jester yells, loud enough to carry over to where Yasha and Fjord are, still lying flat on her back on the ground as she dramatically shakes both fists. Beau laughs and reaches out to help her up, then pulls her into a hug only to squawk indignantly when Jester tries to ruffle her hair. Abruptly, though, Jester leans in to whispers something to Beau then turns to look directly at Yasha and flashes her a wink and a thumbs-up.

 Yasha is pretty sure Jester can see her blushing from a few dozen feet away, even before Beau snickers and blows a kiss at her.

 “Did she just —” Fjord sounds so genuinely disturbed that Yasha can’t help laughing. “Well, that was just unsettling.”

 Yasha gestures at him with the stick she’s been using to stir the coals in the fire pit. “I think it’s nice.”

 “Well, ‘course you do,” Fjord says, favoring her with an indulgent smile. “I’m not sayin’ it isn’t, mind, I just ain’t used to seein’ her smile this much without Jester pointin’ that wand at her… or you, really, come to think of it, ‘cept it’s not too disturbing when you do it.”

 Yasha isn’t quite sure how to take that. “Why is it less disturbing when I smile?”

 “Because…” Fjord’s brow furrows and he frowns, thinking for a moment. “You know, never mind. Just figured you didn’t do a whole lot of smiling when we first met you, so it’s nice to see it now.”

 “It’s nice to be able to,” Yasha answers. “For a long time it… it wasn’t.”

 He nods. “Yeah, I get that. Like I said, ‘s nice to see.” He cuts into one of the birds with a small knife, peers at the meat, and nods. “Well, time to round up the gang, looks like. Breakfast is about to be served.”

 

***       *        ***

 

They have a few days before they have to travel on to their next job, so after breakfast no one is in any particular hurry to get moving; Fjord and Molly have volunteered for cleanup duty, Jester has staked out a spot under a tree with her sketchbook and paints arranged in front of her, and Caleb is just now disappearing into the woods with one of his books under his arm, like a man on a mission. 

 Yasha reclaims her spot on the tree trunk and goes to work sharpening her sword; it’s mindless, repetitive business, and a good way to keep from getting herself too worked up with nerves about whatever surprise this is Beau has planned. She doesn’t even notice at first when Nott approaches silently and scrambles up onto the tree trunk beside her.

 “Have you found any new ones lately?”

 Yasha nearly drops her whetstone in surprise.

 “Sorry! Sorry, sorry!” Nott blurts out. “I didn’t mean to scare you! I just forget sometimes, you know, how not to be sneaky.”

 “No, no, it’s all right, Nott, really,” Yasha says hurriedly. “I’m fine.”

 Nott relaxes, but then seems to shrink into herself a little bit. “I wasn’t going to stab you or anything.”

 Yasha reaches over and pats her on the shoulder, uncertainly. “I know. It’s all right. What did you mean, found any new ones?”

 “You know, flowers,” Nott replies. “There haven’t been too many along the road here, but I thought maybe you’d have gone looking whenever we stop for the night.”

 “I have,” Yasha tells her, frowning slightly, “but I haven’t had much luck.”

 It’s been a fairly barren stretch of land the last few days, and it reminds her more of Xhorhas than she likes. Not that she hates the reminder, exactly, but there are reasons that she left and it’s harder to feel like her past is behind her when her surroundings make her think she’s back home.

 “I tried looking, too, but I’m not finding anything either,” Nott says.

 “Oh. Well, thank you for trying,” Yasha replies, sincerely. 

 Nott looks down at her hands, frowns, and tucks them into her sleeves. “I’m going to need to find more to put in Caleb’s hair soon. They keep falling out whenever something knocks him down.”

 Yasha can’t help a tiny smile at that. She can never be sure whether Nott honestly believes the flowers help protect Caleb, but she understands what it is to take solace in belief.  “We’ll try to make sure he doesn’t get knocked down again, then, before we can find more.”

 “That would be good.” Nott pulls her little hand crossbow out, inspecting the string and the mechanical workings for any signs of dirt or damage. “You’ll tell me if you find any, right?”

 “Of course.” Yasha reaches over, intending to ruffle Nott’s hair, but ends up reconsidering the impulse and feeling silly about having one hand inexplicably extended for no apparent purpose at all.

 Nott lapses into silence then. Yasha doesn’t mind, of course, and she’s grateful for how the others have learned to give her space and quiet time when she needs it, before the strain of dealing with people gets to be too much. It’s just the soft _shing_ of her whetstone against the edge of her sword and the occasional twang of the crossbow string as Nott tests and readjusts the tension. After a while Molly comes by, casually drops a kiss against the top of her head, and saunters on past with a rolled up cloth of some kind slung over his shoulder and a mischievous smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

 If it’s another tapestry, she’s not sure she wants to know.

 “Should I be worried?” she calls after him.

 He turns to wink at her and waves a hand. “No more than you should be worried about anything else I do, darling.”

 She shakes her head, smiling, and turns her attention back to cleaning and oiling her blade; Nott, though, makes a small strangled noise that probably means she’s far less reassured by that statement than Yasha is, and watches him through wide eyes until he disappears from view.

 “What’s that?” Nott says abruptly a few minutes later. “Wait, now?”

 “Who are you —” Yasha looks up, confused, to see Nott sitting with her head tilted slightly to one side, as if she’s listening to something, and an attentive expression on her face. “Oh.”

 That’s when she registers a soft meow and a pair of paws resting lightly on her knee, and looks down to see Frumpkin watching her attentively, his tail up and waving. “Hi,” she says happily, scratching around his ears.

 Nott clears her throat. “I’m supposed to tell you that you should go follow Frumpkin now.”

 “I’m… why?”

 “I’m only relaying the message I was given,” Nott says quickly, holding her hands up. “It’s something about your surprise?”

 “Oh. All right.” Yasha trails off, confused, and then she registers that Frumpkin seems to be wearing what looks like a silk scarf in a very distinctive shade of blue. “Um, thank you, Nott?”

 “Sure,” Nott replies. “I mean, you’re welcome.”

 Frumpkin paws at Yasha’s knee and meows again, more insistently this time; when she stands and sheathes her sword, he starts trotting off in the same direction where Beau disappeared into the woods earlier, occasionally glancing back in her direction as if to make sure she’s following.

 Yes, she’s following. In fact, she’s hurrying to keep up.

 The patch of woods at the edge of their campsite is not particularly large, as it turns out. But the further she goes into it, the denser and more verdant it seems to get, and the more the rich earthy scent surrounding her intensifies. The air has become moist here, and she’s aware of the soft sound of running water: a spring bubbles up out of the ground nearby and flows into a brook that Frumpkin seems to be leading her alongside.

 When she emerges from the trees into a clearing that’s as lush and green as the road the past few days has been desolate and barren, she can’t help a wordless exclamation of joy. The grass is thick here, almost knee-high in places, splashed with color from a number of small, bright sprays of wildflowers.

 A hand falls on her shoulder, very lightly and for the briefest of moments; she looks down at Caleb, who gives her a knowing smile as he tucks his spool of silver thread back into his pocket. “It is not what you might have expected to find, is it?” he asks.

 “I —” Yasha trails off, because she has no idea what to say. “No.”

 Frumpkin nuzzles at her leg and meows, and Yasha reaches down to pet him one more time before he trots over to Caleb.

 “ _Unexpected things can frequently be the most delightful, I’ve found,_ ” says Caleb in Celestial. “ _And I think this is where I should take my leave. Enjoy yourself… Beauregard is waiting for you over there._ ” He points off toward the center of the clearing, smiles at her one more time, and starts back the way she came with Frumpkin following beside him.

 

***       *        ***

 

Yasha continues on in the direction Caleb had indicated, and sure enough, there in the center of the clearing is Beau, lounging back on her elbows in the middle of a blanket that Yasha realizes is what she’d seen Molly carrying earlier, and a plate full of pastries beside her.

 “Hey, there you are,” Beau drawls, patting the blanket beside her in invitation; the second she sees Yasha, she breaks out into a grin brighter than the midday sunlight that falls on the clearing. “So, uh… surprise?”

 “It’s — it’s, um, definitely a surprise,” Yasha stammers in agreement as she stretches out next to Beau. “How did you — is this place real?”

 “A valid question,” Beau says, nodding. She breaks off a piece of something that looks delicious and chocolate-covered and offers it to Yasha. “But yeah. It’s real. Like I said, I found it this morning when I was looking for a place to do, y’know, my monk shit. You like it?”

 She honestly looks worried that the answer will be no, and Yasha — after eating the proffered bite of chocolate pastry — leans over to kiss her… and accidentally leaves a smear of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. “Yes, of course I do. It’s amazing.”

 Beau looks relieved to hear it, though Yasha is admittedly a little bit distracted by her licking away the chocolate on her lips. “It just seemed like your kind of thing, so… yeah.”

 Yasha runs a hand through the grass; she may never stop being amazed by how it bends beneath her touch so easily only to spring back. “It is. Thank you.” Is that enough to say? It doesn’t feel like enough.

 “Sure thing,” answers Beau, and offers Yasha the rest of the pastry; not for the first time, Yasha’s glad that Beau manages to pick up on the undercurrent of what she means even if she’s not sure how to express it. “I’m just glad you like it. It’s nice, you know? All peaceful and stuff.”

 “Very peaceful,” Yasha agrees, and holds the pastry up to Beau’s mouth, because that seems like the kind of thing she should do. Then, abruptly, she asks, “Beau?”

 Beau gives her a quizzical look and swallows her mouthful of pastry. “Huh?”

 “Is this… is this a date?”

 The grin she gets in response is just… _so_ endearingly goofy; Beau isn’t nearly as suave as she likes to think she is, and for all the sense it makes, that’s what Yasha finds so charming about her. “That was kind of the idea.”

 Yasha reaches over and squeezes her hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever been on an actual date before.”

 “And now you have,” Beau says, nodding. “Or… are on one now.”

 “And you got everyone to help,” Yasha continues, because it’s all making sense now. “Didn’t you?”

 Beau tries, and utterly fails, to look innocent. “Maybe?”

 “All of that for me. You are ridiculous,” Yasha tells her. “And I really like it.”

 Beau reaches over, plucks a small sprig of blue flowers, and works it into Yasha’s hair. “Now that’s the kind of thing I like to hear,” she teases.

 “I should probably thank you properly for it,” Yasha says slowly, and before she can think too hard about it and decide not to, she sits up and pulls Beau into her lap.

 Beau wasn’t expecting that, because she lets out a yelp of surprise and then quickly tries to act like she didn’t get caught off guard. “Oh, hey.” She gives Yasha a lazy smile and leans a little more closely into her.

 “Hi,” Yasha answers, then bends her head to kiss Beau, because actions come much more easily to her than words. Beau makes a pleased noise against her lips, slides her arms around Yasha’s neck, and with that uncanny agility of hers manages to twist around so that she’s facing Yasha, straddling her lap.

 Beau kisses like she fights: focused, intense, and adept at finding weak points to strike at. It’s breathtaking, and not only has Yasha watched her fight often enough to know this, over the past few weeks she’s learned that it’s no less breathtaking when Beau uses all that experience for much more _fun_ pursuits. 

 “Beauregard?”

 Beau pulls back and blinks at her with a relaxed and slightly dazed smile. “Huh?”

 “Are you — you’re not —” Her cheeks are warm, and she can’t believe she’s going to say this. “You’re not trying to seduce me, are you?”

 “Mmmm.” Beau nuzzles at a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear. “I was kinda, I don’t know, hoping it would go the other way around?”

 “You mean…” It feels like a rush of affection has just poured in to fill her chest, and Yasha realizes she probably shouldn’t have been so surprised; how many times has she seen Beau drop into a defensive stance and wait for something to come at her? She takes Beau’s face between her hands and kisses her again, gently at first, but with a steadily building intensity that is so much easier than finding the words to say exactly how much it means to her that Beau has been so willing to let her figure out this relationship on her own terms.

 Beau makes a soft, pleased noise and lets her hands settle lightly on Yasha’s shoulders before she begins to trace along the edge of her jaw, back and forth in a steady rhythm. There’s a sharp intake of breath — from which one of them, it’s honestly hard to tell — and Yasha nips very softly at Beau’s lower lip, a thank you of sorts.

 “I hope I do not let you down,” she murmurs.

 Beau’s fingers are gentle as they slide up into her hair. “You won’t. You’re just… you’re you, so nah. Not gonna happen.”

 “I’m not — that isn’t saying much.”

 “It is. It says a hell of a lot.” Beau catches her gaze, stares her down with the same fierce determination that radiates from her when they’re challenging some creature five times bigger than the entire party put together. “You know me well enough by now to know I don’t waste my time on shit I don’t think is worth it, right?”

 Yasha looks at her for a long moment. Beau has worked very hard to cultivate an appearance of not caring about anything; it's only recently that Yasha figured that out, and sometimes it's still hard to tell when she's being genuine. The hint of worry in her eyes, subtle but palpable enough to pick up on, is a clue, but that doesn't speak as clearly to Yasha as the way Beau leans into her with an ease and comfort that’s completely at odds with her tendency to act like she keeps everyone at arm’s length.

 “Okay,” she says finally, because there's too much to say and she doesn't think she can find enough words for it all, so instead she pulls Beau tight against her — feels Beau all but melt into her — and kisses her again. It's easier to trace the outline of Beau's mouth with her tongue, moving with a deliberate slowness that promises much more until Beau makes a raw near-growl of a noise and takes control of the kiss so that it’s Yasha who’s parting her lips in invitation and whimpering when Beau’s tongue slips into her mouth.

 Beau pulls away with a ragged gasp, but keeps her hands wrapped around the back of Yasha’s neck. “Okay?” she echoes in a husky whisper, a question this time.

 The pure need in her voice is enough to coax a soft moan from Yasha. “Yeah. _Yes_. Okay.” She lets her hands fall to Beau’s hips, pulls Beau even more tightly against her. She knows this now: she's okay with a lot of things, and top of the list at present is making sure that Beau gets the seduction she was hoping for.

 No. Scratch that. She _needs_ to make that happen. Right now.

 Beau is still straddling Yasha’s lap, and her eyes flutter closed involuntarily when Yasha’s hands glide over her shoulderblades, along the sides of her neck, and up so she can run her fingers through the soft, short hair of Beau’s undercut. When she opens her eyes again she looks slightly dazed, and even after several weeks Yasha can still barely wrap her mind around the notion that _she’s_ the reason Beau looks so breathlessly happy right now.

 “I like seeing you like this,” she whispers. She pulls Beau in for another kiss and dares this time to catch Beau’s lower lip between her teeth; her efforts are most definitely rewarded by the way Beau lets out a low, hungry whimper and digs her fingers into Yasha’s shoulders. Yasha’s only too happy to oblige; she slides her hands beneath Beau’s thighs and lifts her up just a bit, and that's all the prompting Beau needs to wrap her legs around Yasha’s waist in response.

 Which is, as it happens, exactly the reaction Yasha was hoping for. She’s always found Beau’s sheer physicality and the way she pours so much of her energy and her entire being into her movements incredibly attractive; the way Beau is feverishly running her hands up and down the length of her spine now, how she’s grinding into Yasha as if no matter how closely pressed together they are it just isn't enough, is absolutely dizzying. It’s hardly one-sided, either: Yasha has moved one hand up to cup the side of Beau’s face, her thumb stroking an increasingly erratic pattern against her cheek as she deepens the kiss, and when she lets her other hand slide up to squeeze Beau’s ass possessively Beau moans into her mouth, a sound of pure raw need that draws a responding growl from Yasha as her own hips buck against Beau before it even occurs to her to do so.

 “Fuck,” Beau gasps against her lips, ragged and breathy and somehow almost vulnerable, and the undisguised need in her voice sends a bolt of heat right through Yasha’s core. “Fuck, Yasha, that was _so fucking hot._ ”

 Yasha pulls back just far enough that she can watch the reaction as she digs her fingers a little more firmly into Beau’s ass, and gods, yes. Beau’s already blown pupils seem to go even more out of focus, her mouth falls open as a desperate whine escapes her throat, and _Yasha made her do that._

 She looks amazing like this, Yasha thinks, with her hair coming loose of its ties and her lips swollen from the bruising kisses they’ve been sharing. She’s halfway undone already, and Yasha just _knows_ she needs to watch Beau unravel all the way beneath her hands. She wants more than just to feel Beau’s body pressed against hers through several layers of clothing; she wants to hear Beau gasp out her name in between more of those glorious hungry noises; she wants to see Beau splayed out on the ground, naked and on display just for her.

 “I —” Words have never been Yasha’s strong suit at the best of times, and now, when her entire consciousness is reduced to an incoherent frantic litany of _wantwantwantwantwantwantneed_ , they seem next to impossible. She reaches up, runs her hand down over the bare skin of Beau’s abdomen — inhaling sharply at the way she can feel those gorgeously defined muscles trembling at her touch — and hooks her fingertips into the waistband of Beau’s pants. “Let me… I need…”

 “Right there with you,” Beau says, and surges forward to kiss her. Their mouths come together in a glorious, near-violent crash not unlike the thrill of battle, their lips already parting, and the sheer force of Beau’s eagerness knocks Yasha flat on her back. She has no interest in trying to sit back up though, not when she can run her hands down Beau’s arms in a half-blind bid to get that damned robe off her right now, not when Beau is frantically tugging her tunic loose of her waistband so she can slide her hands up beneath the material to cup Yasha’s breasts.

 There’s nothing especially elegant or romantic about the way they spend the next several minutes fumbling with laces and knots, too intent on removing the infuriatingly obstructive layers of clothing between them to care about doing so with any style. They have both, Yasha realizes as she leans up to trace the line of Beau’s collarbone with her tongue, been wanting this for a long time.

 She hasn’t actually seen Beau naked since that time in the bathhouse back in Zadash, and even then her view had been somewhat obscured by steam and the need to keep from being obvious about appreciating the sight with so many other people around. Neither of those things is an issue now, and when Beau, muttering curses under her breath, stands up just long enough to kick her pants off, Yasha doesn’t try to hide how much she likes what she sees.

 “You look…” She can see every minute detail of the way Beau’s muscles shift under her skin as she lowers herself back to her knees and slowly slides her hands down over Yasha’s sides before hooking her fingers into Yasha’s waistband. “So amazing.”

 Did that sound stupid? She doesn’t care. She’s half forgotten how words even work right now. Beau is looking at her with a question in her eyes, and Yasha’s answer is to nod and raise her hips off the ground so Beau can get these damned pants off of her. With a sly smile, Beau ducks her head and traces a slow line with her tongue down over Yasha’s abs, swirling around her navel, before pressing a wet and deliberate kiss to her bare skin just above her waistband. Slowly, _far_ too slowly, Beau slides Yasha’s trousers and underwear down, groaning softly when the scent of Yasha’s arousal hits her, but the second the last of their clothing has been discarded she crawls back up Yasha’s body to take her face in both hands and kiss her hard. Yasha knows that those few seconds without any contact between their bodies were as much torture for Beau as they were for her, because Beau starts grinding down against Yasha’s thigh as soon as it slides between her legs and she’s so wet already, hot and dripping and perfect against Yasha’s skin.

 “Fuck,” she gasps into the kiss, digging her fingers into the hard planes of muscle in Beau’s back. “Fuck, Beau, I need —”

 She needs to be inside Beau right now, that’s what she needs: to watch the way Beau’s incredibly expressive body responds to her fingers and her mouth, to reduce her to a boneless, quivering mess.

 And then Beau pulls back and leans over her, stroking her cheek lightly, those piercing blue eyes of hers serious as she studies Yasha’s face.

 “You’re sure about this?” she asks in a voice so gentle and earnest and concerned that, if she didn't know she was already there, Yasha could have fallen in love with her right then. Beau has never tried to hide how she feels about Yasha, but she’s never tried to push for more than Yasha was willing to give, either. That’s one of the things Yasha loves about her.

 She shifts, rolling over to pin Beau on the ground beneath her, and Beau’s eyes flash with surprise that quickly darkens into desire as Yasha presses her down into the grass; a tremor of delight shakes her entire body and Yasha can feel every bit of it.

 “I’m sure,” she says, curling her fingers around Beau’s arm and raising it to her mouth so she can press a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist.   She makes a point of looking Beau directly in the eye as she continues, emphatically, “I want this. I want _you_.”

 Whether she deserves it, she thinks, no longer matters, because Beau smiles up at her with such undisguised amazement and affection that if she had any doubts left, she doesn’t any more. _Beau_ wants this, and Beau deserves to get what she wants.

 “Well, you’ve got me, then. You know that, right?” Beau reaches up and traces Yasha’s mouth with one fingertip. “I’ve been, like, waiting forever to hear you say that.”

 “I know,” Yasha says, equal parts apologetic and grateful. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

 “Hey, no. No, no, no.” Beau presses her finger against Yasha’s lips, and she can’t help kissing it. “That’s not an apology thing, okay? Besides, you’re worth it.”

 Yasha laughs. “You don’t know that yet.”

 “No, but…” Beau grins at her, but her voice wavers and trails off into a gasp when Yasha kisses her finger again, then takes it into her mouth. “I really, _really_ need to find out.”

 “That can be arranged,” says Yasha, and then she’s nudging Beau’s legs apart with her thigh. Beau spreads her legs _so willingly_ for her; it’s amazing and gratifying and incredibly hot, and when Yasha sinks two fingers deep inside her  Beau immediately tightens around them as if she wants to keep Yasha there forever. Yasha, for her part, wouldn’t mind that at all, because Beau is already arching up off the ground with her eyes half-shut and her mouth open, trying to whisper Yasha’s name through incoherent gasps and it might be the most beautiful sight she’s ever seen. She’s imagined it what must be hundreds of times, but her imagination can’t come close to living up to the reality.

 She’s going to make Beau come so hard she doesn’t remember her own name, Yasha decides as she nips lightly at Beau’s throat before sucking at it hard enough to leave a mark that will last for days. And then she’s going to cover every inch of Beau’s body with kisses, and then she’s going to do it all over again.

 “Fucking —” Beau draws a long, shaky breath that trails off into a high-pitched whine when Yasha’s thumb traces a rapid flurry of strokes across her clit. She arches up again to meet Yasha’s hand, wanting more, wanting everything Yasha is willing to give her, and Yasha captures her mouth in a rough and messy kiss that muffles her cry when a third finger eases into her.

 “You look —” Yasha begins, but the words she would need to describe how good Beau looks when she’s writhing under her touch, all that burning intensity without any of the usual precision and control, are beyond her right now. She leans down instead to trace along the edge of Beau’s ear with her tongue, slowly and deliberately, listening to the keening whine that grows more and more desperate the longer she drags it out.

 She’s still moving her fingers inside Beau with slow, even strokes, and when a low pleading moan erupts unbidden from Beau’s throat she knows she’s found the perfect angle. “Just like that?” she murmurs.

 Beau nods, her eyes shut tightly, her breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. “‘s good,” she chokes out, grinding up into Yasha’s hand.  “I — fuck, Yasha, harder, please.”

 And oh, Beau sounds so hot like this, distilled down to raw desire and need, begging in a way she never would otherwise; Yasha readily complies, her thumb keeping up a solid pressure against Beau’s clit while she steadily ramps up the speed of her thrusts. Beau is _so_ wet, so open for her, and the sensation of her fingers gliding effortlessly through that slick heat makes her so dizzy with arousal that Yasha has to bury her face in the side of Beau’s neck for a moment.

 Beau lets her hips push up against Yasha’s hand, letting loose a broken stream of what might be curse words all mixed up with Yasha’s name, and she’s close, she’s so close. Yasha is pressed up against her, dropping feverish kisses along her jaw, and she can feel it in every minute movement of her muscles.

 “That’s it,” she whispers, shifting so that she can run her tongue down the line of Beau’s throat and between her breasts. Beau digs her heels into the ground in response; Yasha straddles her thigh, drawing another long whispered string of filthy words from Beau’s mouth when she feels the wetness coating her skin. “That’s it, you look so good like this, come on…”

 Beau has one arm wrapped around Yasha’s waist to keep her close, but Yasha seeks out Beau’s free hand with her own to lace their fingers together with a slow and deliberate sensuality and pins her arm to the ground above her head, at the same time taking one of Beau’s nipples in her mouth and biting down gently. Any sense of coherency Beau had left is gone now, and she’s just crying out in a series of ragged high-pitched tones that might be the most beautiful fucking thing Yasha’s ever heard.

 “ _I love you,_ ” Yasha murmurs in Celestial, the words mingling with the sounds of Beau’s pleasure to form a strange but somehow perfect harmony. She squeezes Beau’s hand, twists her fingers inside her, and lunges up to capture her mouth in a kiss.

 Beau just comes apart at her touch, gasping and moaning into her mouth, and Yasha, stretched out half on top of her and pressing her down into the grass, can feel every moment of it: the shudders that wrack her entire body as she strains upward against Yasha’s weight and the exquisite way she’s convulsing around Yasha’s fingers. Yasha’s so close herself, and all it takes is a moment or two longer of grinding against Beau’s thigh to push her over the edge. This is all the fire-in-her-veins adrenaline of her battle rage, but where she feels nothing while she’s in combat, this experience is infused with elation, love, and pure unbridled joy.

 She collapses against Beau, whispering her name over and over again like some kind of devotion, and Beau holds her close as the last tremors of her orgasm subside.

 They stay that way for a few minutes longer until they remember how to breathe again and their hearts aren’t beating quite so fast, exchanging light kisses and simply reveling in each other’s closeness. When Yasha starts to roll over so she isn’t pinning Beau to the ground with her body, Beau tightens her hold around Yasha’s waist and gives her a pleading look. So she stays where she is but finally, reluctantly withdraws her fingers, and Beau makes a soft noise of protest; Yasha smiles at her and puts her fingers into her mouth. She’s making a show of cleaning them off, a promise of what she’s planning to do to Beau next, but she’s hardly going to lose the opportunity to find out how Beau tastes after she’s been thinking about it for so long.

 “That…” Beau blinks, shakes her head, and gives Yasha a dazed look. “That was so fucking hot.”

 Yasha raises an eyebrow at her. “Which part?”

 Beau laughs. “Like fucking all of it? That was amazing. You were amazing. _Are_ amazing. Yeah, that’s the right word.”

 She shakes her head and begins, “I’m not really —”

 Beau leans in and kisses her before she can finish that thought. “You are,” she says, and there’s that bullheaded stubbornness that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Don’t argue with me on this one, okay? Please? I mean, you gave me the best orgasm of my life, I’m just saying, so…”

 A light breeze has kicked up, cold enough against their sweat-drenched skin to be a shock, so Yasha pulls the cloth they had been using for a picnic blanket over both of them. “All right. You win this round,” she says, and carefully rearranges their position so that she’s on her back and Beau is half draped across her, head against Yasha’s shoulder and an arm around her waist. “Speaking of rounds…”

  “Definitely up for another one,” Beau says immediately, sliding closer and wrapping one leg over Yasha’s, “but we might need a few minutes’ breather first.”

 Yasha laughs and nuzzles into her hair. “You’re going to need your energy.” It’s a good thing Caleb’s spell is meant to last for a few hours yet.

 “Oooh.” Beau’s eyes light up with mischievous anticipation. “Say no more. I mean, you could, but I think I’d rather just find out.”

 She falls silent fairly quickly after that, and Yasha can’t tell if she’s asleep or just meditating, or whatever it is that monks do, but she wasn’t lying when she said Beau was going to need her energy. She has months’ worth of fantasies she’d like to turn into reality now, and the sooner the better.

 It almost feels wrong for her to be this happy. She knows part of that is just a habit she’s still learning to break, but she still feels that she has so much further to go before she’s earned this kind of respite. But the sunlight is warm on her skin; the scent of fresh grass and wildflowers is all around her; their friends — who have all had a hand in making this moment as amazing as it is — aren’t that far away. And Beau is in her arms, warm and pliant yet still so bright and fierce — there is so much that Yasha loves, all right here.

 The eye of the storm is a place of peace, isn’t it, in the middle of all the turmoil?  Maybe it’s not so wrong, then, to have a calm center of her own amidst the chaos and confusion of everything she still has to work through. The thought comes to her unbidden, but with such clarity that she suspects it came from elsewhere, and the palpable wave of comfort that follows it only confirms her guess.

 “Thank you for this,” she breathes to the sky, which may be light and clear but she knows with all the conviction of her faith that the Stormlord will hear her. She turns to brush a kiss against Beau’s forehead and feels a gentle warmth rush through her at how relaxed and happy Beau looks. “This is… such a gift, and I promise you, I will make myself worthy of it.”

 The sky remains clear, and no clouds suddenly move in to block the sun, but the sense of assurance in her heart hasn’t subsided; she thinks, perhaps, that this is an answer in itself.


End file.
